Lodestone
by Like A Perfect Rhyme
Summary: Lodestone - (figurative) a thing that is the focus of attention or attraction. They've both moved on, but they can't quite let go. My version of how Alex and Bobby reconnect after they've both left MCS, as they ponder what they mean to each other.
1. The Call

**Author's Note**: I've never published any fanfiction before (in fact, I've never really successfully _written_ any fanfiction before this) so go easy on me. I've only recently discovered Goren and Eames and how much I love their relationship/friendship/partnership after watching Law & Order: CI for maybe a year or so. This is supposed to take place right after Eames was on SVU in 2012. I read that quote she said and I was inspired...personally, while I'm glad these two never "hooked up" on the show, I think they _are_ soul mates in the true definition of the word (whether that means romantically involved or not) and most of all, I cannot imagine them ever living without each other. Also, I should mention I've probably only seen like 20-30 episodes of the entire LOCI series but I've watched a lot of specific scenes with these two/read quotes, etc. so I hope it's okay. Let me know if there's anything blatantly factually wrong about anything I've written (I wouldn't be surprised, as there's quite a bit of the background I just made up, or took a wild guess at).

**Disclaimer**: Am I supposed to do one of these? Obviously these characters are not my original creations...if they were, they would never have parted ways, and there wouldn't be the need for me to have written this in the first place.

* * *

**The Call**

"_All that time together…the two of us…it was like we were married…"_

"_But you weren't."_

After Eames had that heart-to-heart with Benson, she goes home that night to a cold and empty house and feels a deep sense of sadness and loneliness. But instead of crying (she's feeling much too determined to indulge in that tonight), she picks up the phone and dials a number.

It's Goren. He's surprised, shocked even, to hear her voice, but he can't suppress his happiness.

She's angry. Not at him, but at the situation. She doesn't understand how they ended up this way. She realizes that it doesn't matter if they're not working together, she can't live a life that he's not a part of. For God sakes, she says, they were practically married! She doesn't want to end up a bitter old widow who's picking up guys at bars when she's 60.

He says a little tentatively, that he thought that she'd be better off without him.

She angrily remarks that she's spent her days getting drunk with other officers in bars while everyone goes around sharing their sad stories.

She says that if she's going to be getting drunk in bars with anybody, it had better be him, because then at least she won't have to sit in a room full of inebriated ladies sobbing over her pathetic life.

At least she could be laughing with him about their mutually pathetic lives.

And maybe that would make it a little less pathetic.

Goren's not really sure what to say. He's not even really sure he knows what _she's_ saying.

After a brief pause, where he tries to understand how he's supposed to answer, Eames snarkily asks him if he's turned mute from his lack of yelling at suspects recently.

A bit flustered, he denies that, and says the only thing that wants to come out of his tongue...

"I'm sorry, did you just say we were married?"

She spits back (in a rather affectionate tone), "Trust you to only hear that part. But of the two of us, I think I'd know a little bit more about what that's like than you, huh?"

It's as if she's finally letting go of one of the few things that's kept a distance between them these last few years…her former husband.

He sputters out an awkward "I guess…" and she can't help but smile.

She asks him where he is anyway. He says he's been in Maine.

Of course he doesn't elaborate. So she teases him, asking if maybe he's found a bride after all, or if he's taken up lobster fishing.

Stammering an objection, she interrupts to say that he doesn't have to tell her now anyway; he can tell her when they meet for coffee.

"Coffee?"

"Yeah, you know, that brown, caffeinated drink that people consume together as a social ritual?"

"Right…"

"Unless you'd rather go out for a round of Jell-O shots."

"Ah, no, coffee's fine…"

"Good!" her lips form a small smile. "So when are you going to come back to the city then?"

"You know, I'm not busy tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow? Wow. Apparently you've missed me more than you've let on."

"Of…of course I've missed you!" He's indignant, because for a split moment he forgets that she's the master of sarcasm and he's worried that she's under the impression that he hasn't spent the last year and a half thinking about her constantly, but being too afraid to reach out and hear she's moved on.

"Well, that's good to know Bobby. I'll be damned if I'm going to be the only sentimental sap between us."

On the other end, he gives that small laugh, always accompanied by that signature smile that she knows so well. And now she can see his face clearly, despite the hundreds of miles between them.

After a couple moments of silence, she finishes with a tentative, "So…see you tomorrow" and he can practically hear her smiling.

Then without a further word, as if on cue, they close their phones.

But the conversation lingers on. She finds herself wondering if he'll have shaved, or if he's gone back to his scruffy "mountain man" look. She wonders if it'll feel the same way it used to, craning her neck at a 45-degree angle just to meet his eyes. She can't help but indulge in a grin at the prospect of having her old companion back. This time, she thinks, she won't let him run, or shut himself off, or doubt his own worthiness. This time she won't let him slip away.

In an apartment 300 miles north, he can't help but wonder if her hair is as long as it was when he saw her last. He wonders if her eyes are still as bright as the day he first met her. And suddenly, he can't wait for tomorrow. Despite the fact that he hasn't genuinely looked forward to anything in years, he can't help but feel excitement, and even a few butterflies (_really Goren? Get a grip!_ he thinks) at the thought of reuniting with his "sister".

But only now, after all this time, he realizes that that word hardly describes what Eames means to him. In fact, as much as it terrifies him to even think of it, the way she'd described them…as practically married…was a much more adequate description. Not a crush, or an object to lust after, not even a potential girlfriend… but a wife. _Damn Goren, you've been married ten years and you're only realizing it now? Sister, my ass._

He realizes maybe marriage isn't about romance, or lust, or kissing, or sex, or living together, but about the complete and utter intertwinement of two minds – of two _souls_. About emotional, and not physical intimacy. Physical intimacy you could find in a walk down a seedier alleyway in the city, or in a rundown bar at 2am. Emotional intimacy was something far more elusive…something, Goren thought, he had never found in another human being other than Eames. _And when you find that person, you marry them_.

So it was settled then. Tomorrow, he was having coffee with his wife.

* * *

Hopefully that made sense? I'm always afraid that things seem so clear in my mind and then come across as complete gibberish to those of you who don't have the pleasure/terror of inhabiting my particular brain. I know they didn't explicitly say when/where they were meeting (and I don't know if things like that bother anyone besides me, haha) but it just didn't fit well with the narrative. So insert your own imagination there. I'm thinking of doing one or more chapters, but I suppose it depends on how much creativity my muse wants to grant me.

Also, I'd like to share a few quotes taken from something someone wrote on tumblr about a different couple (Rory and Jess from Gilmore Girls) that, after altering the pronouns slightly, I feel perfectly explain Goren and Eames' relationship.

"Despite my theory that they are endgame, their connection goes far beyond romantic. They are each other's soul mate in every sense of the word. They _get_ each other far better than anyone else ever could and understand each other in ways others never could."

"Whether they ended up together romantically, they will always have each other to lean on. They are the strongest support system that either of them has ever had."

"…they wouldn't be them without each other."

"I think that even if they didn't speak for five years, they could still call each other in times of need and still know exactly what the other person needs to hear. That's the definition of a soul mate."

Maybe after reading those, you'll see where I'm coming from more. And to whoever wrote those quotes, sorry for paraphrasing them and taking them out of context, but I promise I won't take any of the credit for your beautiful words!


	2. The Clothes

**Author's Note**: Well, that was quick! I guess I'm on a roll tonight (read: not studying for my midterm tomorrow but writing this instead). There should hopefully be one or two more chapters total.

**Disclaimer**: Does every chapter really need one? I'm starting to wish I owned these characters, I'm having fun making up characteristics about them that probably are not canon. But that's what fanfiction is for (I hope) so there.

**The Clothes**

It's a windy day in New York City.

But it's mid-October, so that's hardly unusual.

On a nondescript street lined with novelty shops, Alexandra Eames finds herself wrapped in a brand new beige coat she'd picked up only last week and a worn out old green scarf – a juxtaposition that described the position she was in quite perfectly.

Every moment, we are a new version of ourselves. But this new version is an unwritten, colorless realm of possibility until memories and experiences are glued in to create pigment and texture.

That pigment and texture can change as time goes by. Fabric can fade like memories, becoming muddled and mixed until only a couple things stand out.

That was like her scarf.

She couldn't remember when she bought it, or why – only that she had had it for years. Maybe seven years, maybe ten, maybe fifteen.

She thought she remembered a few times she had worn it – when it was newer, to Broadway plays and Christmas parties, and as time took out its bitterness on the smooth fabric, it was relegated to sitting in lonely bars or working on a late-night case in her office. Somehow, just to be in its presence was comforting, especially today.

Today, Alex Eames was a mix of old and new. In the last year and a half, she had grown quite a bit. She had taken on a new challenge, meeting new people, conquering new heights. She still wasn't sure what this new life had in store for her, and even now, the memories were only beginning to form.

_Like the beige coat_, she thinks. It could be a part of beautiful moments in the making, or it could be a soon-forgotten pastime. But only time can tell you those kinds of things. And you can't rush time.

Alex was not the kind of person to forget the past easily. She was tough, and she hated showing vulnerability and weakness, but just because she was adept at hiding them, and pushing them away to a special compartment in the recesses of her brain, did not mean they weren't there.

In fact, she rather thought she might be plagued with those annoying, aching emotions of loneliness, fear, regret and hurt more than most people. But there was no way to scientifically validate _that_.

But today she was a new version of herself. Or should she say, a new-old version of herself? She was going to see her partner who she saw nearly every day for more than 10 years again for the first time in over a year. And she was pretty sure he liked this scarf.

She was pushing forward into the past. She was going to confront the sadness that had been her nighttime companion for the last year right in the face, give it the middle finger, and tell it to take a hike.

She wasn't sure why she had gotten here so early. It was cold outside, and though extreme temperatures didn't particularly bother her, the rational, practical side of her mind (that usually had a death-grip over anything else) was telling her that she looked pretty stupid just _standing_ there. She could at least go inside.

But her feet didn't move. She knew that she had to be the first one there. She knew that she had to be standing outside to meet him. She knew they had to walk through those doors together, and that the first moment she saw him was going to have to be just the two of them, without fumbling with coat buttons and menus of various elaborate coffee concoctions. She didn't know _why_, which bugged her endlessly, but she _knew_ it anyway_._

Another fifteen minutes passes, but she's not in a hurry. She's lost in her own thoughts, unaware of the world around her. Your own memories can be a great companion when you're alone and trying to pass the time.

And then, the moment she's been waiting for since their phone call last night, she sees a dapper figure, graying but clean-shaven, and slimmer than she remembers, hop off a bus a block away. After looking around both ways, he sees Alex, smiles, and begins walking towards her.

_Only Bobby would dress up in a suit to have a cup of coffee_, she thought, smiling partly to his approaching figure, and partly to herself.

As he comes within talking distance of her, he slows down, hands in pockets, looking half-elated, and half-nervous, until he stops completely, leaving about three feet between them.

"Alex." He acknowledges with a grin he can't quite contain, though it's clear he's trying to.

"Bobby." She replies, as she tilts her head sideways, her smile mirroring his own.

This makes him laugh, and he tilts his own head so that they meet eye-to-eye.

They stand like this for a couple seconds, as if unsure how to proceed. It's been so long, and they've never been good at small talk.

But suddenly – and she's not quite sure how it happened – she finds herself in a strong embrace, one filled with comfort, and love, and hope.

They part a few seconds later, not even trying to contain their grins now, as he says, "I…I like that scarf on you."

She responds only with a bashful look that she's practiced with him so many times on their undercover assignments – only this time, she's not sure if it's just for show.

"So…shall we go in?" she gestures towards to door of the coffee shop.

"After you" He replies, still smiling. He thinks he must be exercising facial muscles that haven't been used in years. But – the pain tomorrow will be worth it.


End file.
